


It All Splats the Same

by orphan_account



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Cultural Assimilation, Cultural Differences, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Reconciliation, Refugees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After centuries of hiding beneath the surface, the Octarians are ready to leave their kettles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It All Splats the Same

Mornings were always such hassles.

Assuming it was morning.

Clocks provided the necessary compensation for natural sunlight in keeping track of time, but they lacked a reassuring certainty that came with the rising and setting of a sun. The founders of Octo Valley had done what they could to alleviate the tension of living several hundred meters underground, but there were many aspects of surface life that could not be replicated with clever engineering. A real sun, for one, which a layer of screens mounted on the dome wall did a poor job imitating and hanging flood lights simply could not replace.

The constant adjustments often conflicted with his alarms, which in turn upset his circadian rhythm, which meant mornings filled with pain and fatigue, which is why they were always such hassles.

Faulty equipment only made the situation worse, and Theo rubbed his tired eyes as sparks sputtered from a cracked screen hanging precariously outside. The window separating future accident from him cast Theo’s reflection in the simulated light of dawn. He looked terrible.

Try as he might, Theo couldn’t hide the faint sag of his mantle or how some tentacles dragged behind him. The trip from Scuttle Dome in the dead of night had done him no favors.

Still, Doctor Moore had been organizing the present gathering for weeks, and as his aide, Theo was obligated to share the journey from their native dome no matter the hour.

Theo massaged his head and did what he could to ignore the doctor’s continuous pacing. He occasionally observed his employer’s reflected image in the window, which looked no better than his own, but the excitable inventor moved with an energy that made Theo tired by simply watching. Tentacle coiling tightly around the briefcase in his possession, Theo felt his eyelids droop.

A nap would be so very pleasant, just a moment of shuteye. Was it really so much to ask? Most of the attendees had only just arrived, and some would not bother to show up in person at all. If he could just rest his head against the cool glass for five minutes . . .

A cluster of suckers against his side brought Theo back to the waking world and the doctor hissed in his ear.

“That’s it! Most of them are here! Come on, Theo, liven up those tentacles; it’s showtime!”

Theo fought back a yawn and whispered back, “Of course, Doctor. Lead the way.”

Suckers popping excitedly, the aging Octarian spun on four arms to address the gathered audience. Theo followed without bothering to mirror his employer’s exuberance.

Having heard the doctor’s opening statement more times than he cared to remember, acting as stand in for the sake of practice, Theo casually tuned out the flow of words. Instead, his eyes roamed from figure to figure seated around a wooden table at the room’s center.

At his immediate right sat Commander Holden in a chair that managed to carry the soldier’s impressive weight, despite its miserable state of disrepair. A deep purple, the color of a fresh bruise, Holden’s skin presented a confusing map of scars from battles long past. Theo knew for a fact some of the Commander’s arms had been lost and grown back, but he didn’t know exactly how many. A pair of goggles hung around his neck, standard issue apparently.

One seat down was Lisette wrapped in a magenta scarf a few shades lighter than her skin. A meticulous reporter, more than a fair share of Octo Valley’s premier population had been under her scrutiny. Lisette’s network, carved into the underground by her forebears, boasted an extensive web of surveillance that ensured a constant flow of information. More than once had it been used to keep populations in line and squash dissidents before either grew out of hand. Theo found the predatory gleam in her eyes most unsettling.

Peeking around the reporter was an Octarian of considerable wealth, a status he blatantly flaunted through tentacles decked with rings of varying size, a vest tailored to his precise size, and a sleek cell phone tucked into his breast pocket. An unusually dark shade of blue, Gallagher lounged in his seat, obviously bored. An unsurprising disposition, all things considered. Business with Inklings had been largely untouched by the most recent blow to Octarian society, and the dealing of contraband goods continued despite the bias against surface products.

Almost everyone in the room had the guilty pleasure of eating Inkling dishes delivered by Gallagher’s smuggling ring, though none would admit it. Theo couldn’t blame them. Surviving on synthesized rations, practical as they might be, was a very unappetizing existence.

Further down, and just barely visible, was a scowling face Theo could do without seeing. Deep red skin matched the expression’s intensity, and he wouldn’t be surprised if its owner could set fire to the room through presence alone. Thankfully, the television displaying Chief Engineer Lyle’s image did an excellent job of keeping the palpable animosity confined to his half of the teleconference. Not to mention he could be closer to his crews repairing damaged infrastructure. The recent Inkling incursion had done a number on Fathom Dome.

The table stretched further down to include more guests Theo didn’t quite recognize. Tired as he was, he lacked the desire to attempt identifying unfamiliar faces.

Blinking slowly, Theo’s eyes wandered back to Doctor Moore who gestured with a tentacle that was quickly joined by another and then a third. If the doctor wasn’t careful he’d quickly find himself with no arms to stand on. At the very least, it might cut his introduction short, and the sooner business was concluded, the sooner Theo could get some sleep.

Left of his animated employer, Stuart listened with tentacles crossed. A good friend and close associate of Doctor Moore, the bright-eyed owner of Technacle Industries arguably had the most leverage of those in attendance. Whether something squirted ink, washed clothes, or suspended small landmasses via quantum suspension, odds are it had the smooth sticker of Technacle slapped on. The sheer quantity and range of quality of the company’s production ensured every Octarian could own convenient appliances for daily use, a fact that endeared Stuart and his business to the population at large. The entrepreneur was too considerate for his own good.

Beside him, and of a far less sunny disposition, was the head of the Department of Energy. With narrow tentacles twitching constantly, his unease was glaringly obvious. Theo couldn’t blame the poor director; a shortage of zapfish had sunk most domes down the drain, functioning on only the bare minimum of electric power. Most districts were only kept running thanks to careful management of power distribution, a feat spearheaded by the director’s frantic efforts. Rolling blackouts had become a daily occurrence to provide sufficient electricity for platforms that had yet to be docked lest they fall on unsuspecting citizens. Theo wondered how many lives had been saved by the director’s actions.

More than most would ever know, of that Theo was certain.

One empty chair down rested another television issuing a quiet stream of static. While turned at an angle that made it difficult for Theo to view clearly, the thick helmet and upturned collar of W. Avery was quite apparent. With goggles covering the only remaining section of his face, the surface dweller’s expression was impossible to determine. It was unusual seeing an Octarian so covered up, but Theo supposed it was done out of necessity. Living among the rocky crags of Octo Valley. Most considered him and his fellows mad for making their home on the surface, but the reconnaissance they accomplished was undeniably valuable. Seeing the actual sun must have been a nice perk as well.

A loud burst of static pulled Theo back to the discussion at hand. It seemed Doctor Moore had finished his speech and surrendered the floor, a fact Chief Engineer Lyle happily, or angrily, capitalized on.

“It doesn’t have the same effect. Could one of you slam the table for me?”

No one moved to do so, prompting Theo to roll his eyes before bringing a tentacle down with a loud slap.

“Thank you,” Lyle muttered, his face a strange mixture of satisfaction and anger. Tired seemed an apt descriptor, and Theo felt a strange pang of sympathy. His compassion quickly receded when the Chief Engineer began shouting. “We’ve got three damaged buildings in Mariana Plaza and two sections of Coral Complex completely flattened. The railway running through is sprinkled with so much debris I don’t expect anyone will be taking that line for at least a week.”

“We already know that section of Fathom Dome is high and dry,” Commander Holden managed to squeeze in. “What’s your point?!”

“My point is we have more places to fix than we do material to work with! This meeting was called because Octo Valley is circling the drain, and I’m letting everyone know this dome is on its way out!”

“Meaning what, exactly?” a voice at the table’s far end asked.

Doctor Moore leaned forward. “Meaning, ladies and gentleman, we must act, and act quickly, before society suffers a serious breakdown. Our options are limited, our resources scarce. We’ve barely managed to hold on for so long thanks to our perseverance and intellect, but it can only carry us so far.”

He pulled away from the table, his suckers popping free. “The tide is pulling out, and our future with it. We are quite literally at rock bottom.”

“Only place left to go is up.”

Heads turned to face Avery who was idly flicking a corner of his collar. The suggestion was bait, and every one knew it. Holden however took it hook, line, and sinker.

“You can push all you want, the Inklings won’t just sleep in while we dig our tentacles into their turf. Picking a fight with them is starting a war we can’t win.” The commander settled back into his chair. “Another Turf War will be the end of us.”

“They aren’t as tough as you think, Holden. Octavio proved that,” Avery replied.

“And he was immediately splattered against his own stage by one Inkling,” Holden shot back.

Gallagher wiggled a tentacle in the air, absentmindedly tapping something into his cellphone. “Attacking the Inklings is a stupid idea. Most hardly care, or even remember we exist; why rock the boat?”

“Because they’ve been sitting in the lap of luxury for so long they’ve forgotten how to fight a real war. We’ve all seen how soft success can make you. Isn’t that right, Deep Blue?” Avery asked.

Gallagher briefly looked away from his phone to give the goggled Octarian an unimpressed glare. Doctor Moore took the opportunity to steer the debate into more lucrative waters.

“While open conflict with our decidedly prosperous neighbors is ill-advised, the prospect of moving to a more hospitable locale does have merit.”

“What are you getting at, Doctor?” Lisette prodded. Her expectant look suggested she already knew.

“Ladies, gentlemen, I believe it is time we put our feud where it belongs: in the past.”

The collective gasps could have sucked the air from his lungs had Theo not been holding his breath. The rivalry between Octarian and Inkling was a conflict that had existed since time immemorial. For many, it seemed like they had been fighting their squid competitors since either had learned how to hold a weapon. It was history, practically tradition, a part of their present day, and for many Octarians it was also their future. Undoing centuries of animosity would be like trying to mix oil and water.

But. . . current circumstances were not those of their ancestors, and while Theo had balked at the very idea of peace before, every day spent rotting in Octo Valley made him rethink its validity.

Hopefully, the juggernauts of Octarian society would too.

The silent room erupted into a mass of tentacles and shouting as everyone struggled to make a statement. Some claimed peace was unthinkable; Octarians and Inklings could never mix. Surrendering meant exchanging one hopeless future at the bottom of Octo Valley for another under Inkling boots. Others thoughtfully weighed possible benefits against obvious detriments, civilly navigating the minefield the meeting had become. Still more voiced their utter disgust, brazenly announcing how shameful and insulting the option was to Octarian culture.

Theo considered walking away until the shouting died down, when Stuart climbed onto the table. He straightened himself out, stretching his body as far as he could towards the ceiling. Most ignored the entrepreneur until his skin began to ripple with a rainbow of colors.

The effect was immediate, as voices fell silent and others began to imitate Stuart’s display. The resonance spread until everyone present was shimmering like light reflecting off an ink puddle. Satisfied with his performance, Stuart slid back to his chair while everyone assumed their normal pigmentation.

Doctor Moore leaned over to whisper something and Stuart’s eyes lit in response, lifting a curled tentacle that the doctor softly bumped with his own.

“I understand my proposition is shocking,” the Doctor conceded.

“Ridiculous,” a voice added.

“Pointless,” another continued.

Holden pounded the table with a meaty tentacle, silencing further interruptions, a gesture the doctor acknowledged with a smile.

“But I think it should go without mention how dire our situation is.”

Avery tapped the camera on his end of the transmission, producing a series of pops that drew everyone’s attention. “Maybe you can change popular opinion, hell, you might even turn the Octotroopers into squid-lovers, but you can’t change how Inklings feel about us. I know for a fact they’d rather bury Octo Valley under a mountain of trash than welcome Octarians to Inkopolis.”

Murmurs rolled up and down the table when the surface dweller finished. Theo couldn’t be sure if they were words of agreement or doubt, and honestly it hardly mattered. He had no expectation anyone would walk away from the meeting preparing gift baskets for a trip down the street, or up the kettles, to be more precise. Then again, the doctor had not been tossed out the nearest window, which was a sign that some among those gathered were seriously considering his proposition.

“You are right that most Inklings look down on us, and I don’t expect that outlook to change overnight, but mending our relationship with them is possible. After all, Octarians and Inklings once lived side by side before the Great Turf War.” Stuart proudly adjusted the tie around his neck while leaning on the table. “If we can show them the only real difference between us is a number of tentacles, I’m positive integration isn’t a pipe dream.”

Lyle spoke up, his voice buzzing through speakers. “I wouldn’t mind crawling out of this hole to feel some real wind through my tentacles, if I don’t have to worry about being turned into an ink stain that is. What guarantee do we have the Inklings won’t turn on us the minute we’re exposed?”

“There is no guarantee,” the doctor admitted. “But I believe it is worth the risk, because squabbling here among the ruins _will_ end with every last Octarian dead. Our people will become a footnote in Inkling textbooks, perhaps dioramas in their museums, at best.”

His eyes jumped from one face to another, a hopeful look softening his features. “Is it not better to try and fail than inevitably fade away? How can we in good conscious leave our problems to accumulate on the backs of future generations? Hasn’t such an attitude forced us into the current circumstances eroding our society? We refuse to walk on two legs because Inklings don’t, limiting ourselves purely to spite our enemies. How much longer will we allow old hatreds to confine us?”

“It’s sink or swim,” Holden announced, “Do or die.”

Theo couldn’t hear most of the private conversations budding around the room, but the previous air of tension had been filtered away. Trepidation had taken its place. No one wanted to take a chance if it meant a spectacular failure, but the alternatives were much less attractive. It would hurt, finally admitting defeat after so many years, like a hook being torn free. If Octarians could look past the shame though, they might find a brighter future that wasn’t projected on a screen. That mote of hope helped chase some sleep away, and Theo felt a little lighter.

“I don’t ask that you make a decision now,” Doctor Moore said,” but I do hope you take my proposition into consideration. If no one has anything else to share, I think we can conclude this meeting.”

There were other issues that needed to be addressed, such as the surplus Octotroopers now aimlessly wandering Octo Valley in the absence of DJ Octavio’s commanding beats, or the dwindling supply of zapfish. However, the possibility of leaving Octo Valley, of abandoning old grudges, seemed to overshadow most concerns. It was a lot to absorb, and no doubt many were preoccupied with how it might affect their lives.

Chairs squeaked as attendees began to gradually spill out of the room. A few eyes lingered on the doctor as they exited. Static filled the silence as transmissions ended. Theo walked a slow circle around empty chairs, switching off the television sets. Crawling back to Doctor Moore and Stuart, he was surprised to see the director had not left.

“That went well,” Stuart said.

“As well as it could,” Theo added. He set his briefcase down, openly yawning at last. Giving a little stretch, he dragged himself to the nearest chair. The cushion was a bit flat and its fabric a little rough, but it beat standing around, especially after doing so all morning.

Unless it was the afternoon.

A quick glance at the clock hanging from a wall confirmed his suspicions. A quarter past one; he’d been up for more than nine boring hours. The realization pushed him deeper into his seat.

The doctor apparently shared his exhaustion, moving into the chair opposite Theo, Stuart and the director taking his place at the table’s end.

“You know, for someone who spends more time with computers than people, that was quite the impressive speech, Moore.”

The doctor chuckled at Stuart’s jab. “Perhaps I should hang up my old lab coat and pursue a career in motivational speaking.”

“I don’t think it would be much of a blow to the scientific community. In fact, we might see some fresh ink without your shadow hanging over it.”

A good-natured huff escaped the doctor’s lips before he adjusted the collar of his coat.

“For what it’s worth, I thought your final comment was really persuasive,” the director said, finding his voice at last.

Doctor Moore cracked open an eye and offered a faint smile. “Thank you, Gil. With any luck, we might pull enough support to cause real change in Octo Valley. Who knows, it just might save our species.”

“One dream at a time, Doctor,” Theo mumbled.

He was not exactly paying attention, but he thought he heard the doctor mutter something about “spoilsport”.

Conversation continued between the four, though Theo contributed sparingly in part due to a lack of interest and the temptation of a quick nap. He was aware that Gil gladly pledged his support to the doctor’s efforts, assuring that one ally had been gained over the meeting’s course. Apparently, the director had visited the surface once and had every intention of spending what remained of his life under the open sky.

The sky. That was something worth dreaming of, and the sun, and the stars, and anything that wasn’t stone walls or a curtain of LCDs. Thoughts of an endless blue expanse and the soft touch of a summer breeze pulled Theo under into the warm embrace of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I really feel Octarians got the short end of the stick in Splatoon. They lost the Great Turf War, have been confined to underground colonies for thousands of years, and failed to gain any real advantage by stealing the Great Zapfish. Having literally hit rock-bottom and lived there for generations, I imagine that many Octarians are just tired of scraping out a living among ruins.
> 
> Meanwhile, Inklings have a fairly modern society where the most prominent aspect of civilization is a sport.
> 
> Sometimes it's better to throw in the towel.
> 
> Questions and critiques welcome.


End file.
